Requiem for a Peugeot

The car has gone to the knackers yard. It seemed it wasn't worth repairing. It was hard to believe that was the end when the scrap dealer turned up with his hearse to take it to its last resting place. Though it seems that the crows will pick over its bones first, which is why he handed me a cheque (not grubby notes) for £140. "I was surprised when I saw how new it was," he told me, "but in all honesty most of the newer cars we scrap are Peugeots. And we can sell the parts on." I bought the car in a hurry, in an emergency, four years ago and I've enjoyed driving it. But quality it never was, which is why I've opted for a Mazda again. My friend Frances went way beyond any job description when she drove from Woodbridge to collect me and Hugo, then drove us to Ipswich (past Woodbridge) to the car dealers, patiently sat through a test drive, then negotiated on my behalf to get the best deal on the price. And drove us all home again. I'll be washing her car for years to come in gratitude. I hope I can be as good a friend some day.

Being without a car off the beaten track has been strange, but people have been anxious to help and I haven't felt stranded. Today Chris from work came to take me out for lunch, which was generous of him since he also did my duty yesterday. We had a fine meal at the Badingham White Horse, picking hearty favourites from the 'Pensioner's Menu'. "Do you qualify?" he asked me doubtfully. "Oh absolutely," I told him. "Do you?" No, he admitted. "Well they're hardly going to challenge you," I said. And they didn't. We blissed out on liver and bacon with mashed potatoes and divine dark, rich gravy (me) and sausages amd mash, same gravy (him). I think it suits my body better to have my main meal in the middle of the day, but I'd miss the ceremony of supper. Knocking the top off a boiled egg and cutting up my soldiers would hardly be the same.

I planned a day of housework, much overdue, but in the event spent it in the garden, hoeing and raking the beds to a friable smoothness. Hugo frolicked around making me laugh, then settled in the warm summerhouse for a snooze. When I went out again after lunch and invited him to join me he visibly shuddered and huddled deeper into his bed as a chill breeze blew in through the open kitchen door. Wimpy whippet.